


Life and Death in a Dark, Dark City

by Piker_Benunder



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Arson, Comedy, Detective Noir, Film Noir, Gen, Implied Cannibalism, It's not as dark and horrifying as it sounds, Murder, Parody, Sexual Tension, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 21:17:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20442677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piker_Benunder/pseuds/Piker_Benunder
Summary: The pale moon hid behind thick clouds resting above a dimly lit skyline. Through the window blinds, sparse moonlight lit up my office, each and every ray visible in the dust. I took another sip from my coffee, as black as the soul of Caligino City, the wretched hive of scum I lived in. The mere thought of this shithole having something even closely resembling a soul made me chuckle for the first time in years. Hadn’t heard that raspy sound in years. As usual, the coffee tasted like watered-down dirt mixed with crap and gravel, but it got the job done. Combined with cheap vodka and gin, it helped keep the demons at bay that haunted me, telling me go for one last big tour around the block, purging it from the filthy animals that have claimed it, made it their hunting grounds. But I knew that someone else is always waiting in line to take over, to immediately fill any hole that opened up. Nothing would change. Nothing ever did.





	1. Highway to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This is part one of a two-part story, written for a contest where each part had to be based on a character archetype. For part one, this was "investigator".

The pale moon hid behind thick clouds resting above a dimly lit skyline. Through the window blinds, sparse moonlight lit up my office, each and every ray visible in the dust. I took another sip from my coffee, as black as the soul of Caligino City, the wretched hive of scum I lived in. The mere thought of this shithole having something even closely resembling a soul made me chuckle for the first time in years. Hadn’t heard that raspy sound in years. As usual, the coffee tasted like watered-down dirt mixed with crap and gravel, but it got the job done. Combined with cheap vodka and gin, it helped keep the demons at bay that haunted me, telling me go for one last big tour around the block, purging it from the filthy animals that have claimed it, made it their hunting grounds. But I knew that someone else is always waiting in line to take over, to immediately fill any hole that opened up. Nothing would change. Nothing ever did.

Through the smoke that constantly lingered in my office, I searched for another cigarette to forget the taste of the coffee. As soon as I lit one up, the door swung open and a woman walked in. Probably in her twenties. Full red lips, swaying hips, sparkling green eyes, legs for days in her skintight dress, cheap perfume and a cleavage that would make the most devout christian a shameful sinner. She was a dame to kill for and I had a cocked revolver in my pants.

“Ever heard of knockin’, Lady?”

She stood in front of my desk, clutching her purse. The smoke was cloaking her details, but her hazy contours alone told story after story of the countless men and women she had been with over the years. As thick as a bowl of oatmeal with raisins left in the open on a hot, muggy summer day. “I’m sorry, but I’m in dire need of help. You’re Mr. Oscuro, aren’t you?”

Mr. Oscuro. No one’s called me that in years. Most forgot me, not that I could blame them. “That’s what it says on the door,” I said as I blew out more smoke. “While we’re doin’ introductions, mind tellin’ me your name, sweet cheeks?”

“Behag. Lyse Behag.”

“Behag?” Another drag on my cigarette. God, that name brought back memories. Bad ones I buried deep down where I hoped never to see them again. “Haven’t heard that name in years.”

“So it’s true! When I was a little girl, he always told me about you, how you would jail criminals together and make the city a better place.”

“A better place? This city can’t be rescued and doesn’t deserve to be. Best not to dwell in the past.” Now that I knew who she was, I noticed the resemblance to her father. He was brave, honest, a real upstanding policeman like in the old movies. Too good for this world.

She grabbed a cigarette from her purse and waited for me to light it. I gladly obliged. Blowing smoke into my face, she said, “In my imagination, you were… different. More manly.”

I wasn’t manly? I was as manly as a Russian bear on steroids. That woman was crazy if she didn’t recognise the masculine hunk of testosterone beefcake that I was. But I always had a thing for the crazy ones. “What do you want, Princess? Or did you come for my charming personality?”

She was visibly agitated now, her beautiful eyes restlessly darting around my office. “I… I think the Caligino Killer is back.”

That name alone nearly caused me to choke on my cigarette. “I also haven’t heard that name in years. He’s dead.”

“Then what about this?” she asked, as she pulled a newspaper out of her purse and threw it on my desk, raising up dust that mixed with the smoke, creating a wall of white and grey. In big, bold letters, the article told about the murder of a young couple in a park at night. Throats slit, left to die in the bushes. Sure as hell, it sounded like the Caligino Killer. The man who murdered my partner.

“Did anyone ever tell you how your father died?” I put out my cigarette, its ash burning like my sense of justice and righteousness on that fateful night.

“No. I was a child back then, and I always wanted to remember him as the man who came home late at night to tell me a story, not as-”

“We were on patrol, when we heard a scream from Pikdonker Park. A scream as ice cold as my ex-wife’s heart. When we arrived, there was no one. Not a hint of a soul to be found. I went to relieve myself of some built-up stress.” I opened a drawer, picked up a cigar, bit off the end and put it in my mouth. A deep breath later, I continued, “From my bladder. When I came back, I saw your old man. Throat slit, left to die in the bushes. Still gurgled, but nothing I could do. A miserable death, he deserved better. And a week away from retirement, too.” The lady’s face was as pale as the smoke by now, a stark contrast to her red lips. A picture straight out of a fairytale. The only beacon of light in this godforsaken place, apart from the moon. “All we found was the letter X carved into his breast. And now this.”

“The article says these victims had the same injuries. And the police confirm the murders to be in the same vein as the Killer’s.” She swallowed heavily. “It’s him, I know it. I can feel it.”

“Ten goddamn years.”

“Ten? But my father died 15 years ago, and the killings stopped a few months later.”

“Darlin’, the man’s had many names and many more killings under them. Put down so many bodies, we could hardly count ‘em all.” I grabbed a bottle of rum and poured me a glass. “No, he was active for five more years. Wanna know what else he did?”

“No, please, that’s not-”

I slammed down my emptied glass on the desk. It shook like the breasts of one of those wenches in Billy Bob’s Bar With Busty Babes. “There was a company’s Christmas party in an Italian restaurant. He locked the place and slaughtered every last one of ‘em. Minced ‘em up real good, put ‘em through the sauce machine, ground ‘em up, every damn step of the recipe. Made pizza out of ‘em. By all accounts, it was the nastiest pizza anyone had ever seen and especially smelled.”

She violently dry-heaved.

“That’s how he became known as the Pizza Party Pooper. A week later, he went to a community centre. Big birthday of a young boy, gathered his whole extended family there. His present was a little puppy. Golden retriever. The Killer burned the place down to the ground, with everyone still inside. Reports say they screamed and shouted, pleaded for mercy, but when the fire brigade arrived, it was too late. All they could find were the charred remains of adults, kids, elderly, more kids and the birthday boy, clinging to his puppy.”

“That’s horrible,” she gasped. “Who would do something like that?”

“The Abhorrent Arsonist is who. You remember the orphanage for kittens and birds? That was his next target.”

She put her hand over her mouth in shock. “He was the one who blew it up?”

“Damn straight. They’re findin’ little collars to this day in the area. That filthy rat. Didn’t earn him a name, that one, just the foulest language you’ll hear on this side of the river at the station. Nothing for your delicate ears, Missy.”

“And then?”

“Then he went to the wedding of a charity worker for the underprivileged and a caretaker of elderly penguins. Long story short, that’s how he got the title Cannibal of Caligino.”

For a moment, her face turned as dark as the void these cases left inside me. “I remember reading about all of this. But why didn’t the news ever tell that the Killer was behind them?”

“Honey, that would’ve caused a mass panic. Best to keep everyone in the dark, we figured. Don’t pull the curtain, reveal the secret monsters this society regularly breeds and festers. ‘Specially after we found the body of a man in the orphanage. Or what was left of it.” Another sip of rum to calm my nerves. “Impossible to identify, but all the staff was gone for the day, so no one else was hurt or killed. Apart from the kittens and birds. So it had to be him. Wanted to go out with a bang we supposed, before we could capture him. He was an elusive one, I’ll give him that. As elusive as the meat in the hot dogs back at the station’s cafeteria. And just like that meat, he must’ve tricked us somehow.” The respect I felt for that monster disgusted me, so I smoked the last bit of my cigar, drank the last drops of rum and opened a bottle of whiskey. No need for a glass. Quickly, the respect turned into deep hatred and dark determination. Wherever he was, I was gonna find him. But there was something I needed to know. “What do you want me to do, exactly?”

Once more, she clutched her purse tightly, her perfect hands straining themselves. Then she looked me straight in the eyes with a stone-cold gaze. “Find that man. And kill him.”

Can’t say that came as a surprise. Even the seemingly innocent creatures will sooner or later be tainted by this city, turned into vengeful beasts of loathing. I leaned back in my chair and matched her gaze. “Lady, what you’re asking me to do is illegal. I learned a long time ago that taking matters into your own hands creates nothing but pain and misery. I’ve had my fair share of both. You don’t need that.”

“Pain and misery is precisely what I want. I don’t care what happens to me, as long as that man is brought to justice.”

“Justice? This got nothin’ to do with justice, Lady, and you know that. Stop sugarcoatin’ it with that sweet lips o’ yours and give it to me straight. Believe me, nothin’s gonna shock me. I've heard some bad things and thought worse myself.”

“Don’t pain and misery sound clear enough to you? Fine.” She leaned in closer, her cleavage on full display over my desk, pushing the newspaper to the side. “I. Want. Revenge.”

I emptied the bottle of whiskey. “That I can deliver.”

“I don’t have a lot of money, but it should be enough for your service,” she said as she rummaged through her purse.

Raising my hand, I stopped her. “Don’t sweat it. Regard it as a long overdue favour for an old friend.”

“Thank you. Please, if I can help you in any way, tell me.”

“Well, honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but this line o’ work ain’t for you. It’s dirty, messy, the opposite of glamorous. It’ll break you, tear you apart. Eat you whole without chewing. And that’s just for breakfast.”

“I know what I’m getting into. I’m not daddy’s little girl any more,” she said, standing up. “Now, I’m daddy’s big woman.” Damn, she sure as hell was.

Without another word, she left my office. Her perfume smell lingered for a while, mingling with the smoke, dust and alcohol. Smelled just like the gutter on the street, full of shattered dreams and broken promises. This promise, however, wouldn’t be added to ‘em.

The paper didn’t give him another nickname. Instead, it simply called him by his old, original one: Caligino Killer. Did he really return? After all these years? Perhaps he had unfinished business, perhaps it was a copycat. It didn’t matter and I didn’t care. I had a job to do, and it was time to shake some rotten trees on the street for the forbidden fruit of knowledge.


	2. Stairway to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When I stepped out onto the grimy pavement, the filth and dreck was on full display. The smell of urine and other bodily fluids hung in the air like an investment banker during the great depression. Everywhere I looked, I saw scum. To my left were two mafia goons, always helpful, offering their protection services to a small corner store by demonstrating what would happen to him should he refuse. To my right, a bunch of teenaged hooligans exchanged drugs. In front of me was an alley with a prostitute, sweet-talking four potential clients. A van drove past, ‘Freddy’s Fantastic Foods’ it read in bleak black-on-white on its side. Obviously on their way to a weapons deal down by the docks. It was an open secret that everyone who valued their life stayed silent about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of a two-part story, written for a contest where each part had to be based on a character archetype. For part two, this was "scavenger".

When I stepped out onto the grimy pavement, the filth and dreck was on full display. The smell of urine and other bodily fluids hung in the air like an investment banker during the great depression. Everywhere I looked, I saw scum. To my left were two mafia goons, always helpful, offering their protection services to a small corner store by demonstrating what would happen to him should he refuse. To my right, a bunch of teenaged hooligans exchanged drugs. In front of me was an alley with a prostitute, sweet-talking four potential clients. A van drove past, ‘Freddy’s Fantastic Foods’ it read in bleak black-on-white on its side. Obviously on their way to a weapons deal down by the docks. It was an open secret that everyone who valued their life stayed silent about.

I started walking. Didn’t matter where, because wherever you went, crime found you. From an open cellar door, I heard barking and loud cheering. So they moved the dog-fighting ring to a new place, I thought to myself.

Around a corner, I found one of my old regulars leaning against a wall, minding his own business. As greasy and disgusting as a slightly deflated medicine ball drenched in rancid pig fat, the few strands of hair he had left slicked back with the oil from his face. Must’ve been planning his next hit or scouting the area for another poor scrub to ease of the burden of their wallet. I greeted him by punching him in his solar plexus and grabbed him by the throat. “Komor.” Hadn’t said that name in years. “You’ll tell me everything I wanna know.”

“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’. You’ve been gone too long, things have changed,” he said between gasps for air.

“Things will change now,” I said as I smashed his head against the wall. “Now talk!”

Komor raised his pudgy hands to signal his defeat. Still a pushover. “Okay, please, just stop. What do you wanna know?”

I held the article I ripped out of the newspaper in front of his face. The way his bug-like eyes darted over the letters showed he had at least some level of literacy. How surprising. “I- I don’t know anythin’ ‘bout that. It’s just some bodies, what do you care?”

“What I care about is none of your damn business.” I let go of him to get a cigarette out of my pocket. Then I grabbed him again and blew smoke in his ugly face. “I’ll only ask nicely once more. What do you know about this?”

“Okay, let me think. Um, Temnota might have heard something, he’s got eyes and ears everywhere. Whatever happens in this city, he knows about it.”

Temnota? Hadn’t heard that name in years. Alive and kicking, unusual for someone in his position. “If he wasn’t in charge of it in the first place.”

Komor nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, he’s powerful. You shouldn’t mess with him. I can bring you to him, we’re on good terms.”

“No need for that.” Another punch to Komor’s face, a knee to his private region and, for good measure, a cigarette tossed on the back as he contorted in pain on the floor. The way he was lying there, his anguish palpable on the city’s cold, hard concrete, reminded me of my own lamenting soul. Almost felt sympathy for that bastard. But the only feeling that wretched filth was worthy of was contempt, and I had plenty of that to hand out. “Have a nice day.” From the other side of the streets, a group of kids was watching, fear in their eyes. “Don’t do drugs, kids, or I’ll put you down,” I advised them.

That Temnota was a man of wealth, pomp and decadence, surrounding himself with yes-men and whores. Didn’t make him any less threatening. There was a reason he was one of the top players in the game, he didn’t reach that peak from being nice and friendly and he certainly didn’t stay there because of his good manners. Him potentially being in the know about the case was no help, he would have been my next step, anyway. Ruining Komor’s day was almost enjoyable, however. But I didn’t enjoy what I was doing, or find pleasure in it. It had to be done and I was the one man willing to do what was necessary. Best not to let emotions cloud my judgement.

Finding Temnota posed no problem. Just had to get to the most exuberant club in town, the ‘Rustled Jimmy’. He was usually either upstairs or in the VIP area, high off his ass, while some low-life gangster pleaded for either of two things: access to Temnota’s inner circle, or their life. Both had a slim chance of success, because if he wanted you in, you didn’t have much of a choice anyway. And if he wanted you dead, well, you were a dead man walking in this city.

Of course, he wouldn’t want to see me. Couldn’t blame him, last time we met I broke his jaw and put him in jail. Though with the crooked, corrupt and bribed prosecutors, attorneys, prison overseers, prison guards, legal clerks and stenographers, he got out in no time. Stayed away from me afterwards, though, probably for the better for him. So I had to devise a plan to get to him and to have him listen to me. Luckily, I’m not all looks and charm.

When I arrived at the club, the street was shaking from the violent bass inside. I walked up to the bouncers, shoving aside the brats waiting to further ruin their lives inside that den of sin, and socked one of them right in his burly mug. Went down like a wet sack of flour. His colleague didn’t even react before I told him who I was and that I would enter the club, either with him standing on his feet and all bones intact or not. He was smarter than he looked and opened the door for me.

I was greeted by a literal wall of sound first, then a figurative wall of puke, sweat and drugs. Don’t know which was worse and getting through both was a pain in the ass. Once I got used to that, I still had to deal with the clientele that frequents such locales. I prefer criminals and gangsters, because at least they are honest to themselves and everyone else about them being the drivel of society, the dog turd under the shoe of humanity that can’t be wiped off no matter how much one tries, and the stink remains until you are so used to it, it has become part of you. We are all metaphorical dog-turd stink in this shit-ridden meth-head apartment of a city.

People were constantly bumping into me. Some were drunk or high, some were busy shoving their tongues into someone else’s herpes-hole, and others were looking for a fight. One of them shoved me from behind, and after I turned around he extended his arms and practically invited me to hit him. He messed with the wrong guy that time around, which he and his pals realised after I socked him good, sending him flying a few feet back. I was left alone for the most part after that. Not even security cared. Probably glad to have them taken care of without having to dirty their precious little hands themselves.

The VIP area was guarded by even more bouncers. “Tell Temnota Oscuro wants to see him,” I shouted towards one of them over the deafening bass.

“So what?”

“It’s important. He knows who I am and when he finds out you kept me waiting, things ain’t gonna be peachy for you.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, chuckling. “Move on, or else…”

My patience was growing thin, and it had already been as thin as a cheap wafer crisp before. I lay one hand on his shoulder, earning me a careful, distrusting gaze. “Listen, kid. Today ain’t the day to test me. People have died and if you don’t let me in there, more will. You want that blood on your hand? Be my guest. But you don’t seem like the killin’ kind.”

The bouncer’s expression turned from angry to confused, and then he let me in. Don’t care if my open-sesame actually did the trick or if he wanted to get rid of me. Now, I was deeper in the beast’s den. Temnota’s unmistakable cheap toiletry hung in the air like rotten ham left to dry. Surrounded by sycophants and bootlickers, he sat square in the middle of the VIP lounge. The years hadn’t been kind to him, and now he didn’t just smell like rotten ham. His puffy face, drawn on eyebrows, lazy left eye, pencil moustache, spray-on tan, purple pimp suit, clubfoot, bloated stomach, it all repulsed me. His appearance was a perfect mirror of his fetid core, a personality as charming as mangled roadkill and a dark, gaping hole where his morals should be, filled with every vapid, hollow thing he could think of to try and replace the love, affection and respect his father never gave him. Worked as well as expected.

Once he recognised me, he shushed away his mistresses and all but two of his bodyguards. “I thought you were dead.” He smiled, displaying the yellow-brown stumps he called teeth.

“Takes more than a bunch of thugs with shotguns and pipe bombs to take me down.”

“Mighty brave to come here, then. Or stupid. Or is it both? Well, what do you want? Come here to let me finish what they started and put the old dog out of his misery? Got a nice barn to take you to, just say the word.”

“What do you know about the Caligino Killer?”

“Ah yes, I read about that. Terrible, terrible thing. Those poor people, so young and innocent. But why did you come out of the woodwork for that?” He knew perfectly well, and he savoured every moment of the agonising dramatic pause before he continued his charade. “Oh, I remember. He maimed your partner. How silly of me to forget. But isn’t that reason enough for me not to rat them out? I mean, they pre-emptively helped me with a problem I didn’t even know I had. Oh, don’t give me that look, I’m just kidding. Did you leave your sense of humour to die in the gutter you climbed out of? If you ever had one…”

“What do you know?” I was growing impatient.

“Why should I tell you, apart from my generous and caring personality?”

“I know where they stashed your forfeited assets.” Back when he was arrested, most of his money, real estate and anything of value to him was taken in and locked away. Most of it was mysteriously lost, however.

But he didn’t know that. And his mushy brain was obviously grinding its rusted gears, trying to figure out whether I was lying. “And you’re not lying, are you?” was the cunning trick he came up with.

“No.”

“Alright then. I’ll let you know what my eyes and ears have picked up, and you tell me your dirty little secret regarding my hard-earned riches. Deal?”

“Sure.”

“Well then, there’s not much. That Killer is a slippery one, I tell you that. That couple, in the park? Total nobodies, no connections to anyone I know. But a small bird whispered to me that the Killer might might live in one of the shacks outside of town.” The slums, housing the rejects and outcasts. Makes sense. “Nothing certain, of course. Hear-tell about having seen a suspicious figure with a… distinctly urban chic about them.” What a lovely way to say hobo.

“Anything more specific?”

Temnota apologetically raised his fat arms, chunks of skin and meat flapping around. “I’m afraid that’s all. Try your luck in Precinct 12. I have a gut feeling that would be a good start.” As I started walking away, he cleared his throat. “And what do you have to say to me?”

I gave him the address of a secret government safehouse I happened to know about. His presence would trigger an alarm and I would have one less problem to worry about. Dumb as a brick as he was, he believed me right away. Didn’t think I had anything to lose, that I was without a shred of loyalty towards my former profession. He wasn’t wrong, but the thing is, I hated him even more, and that’s a thing he couldn’t imagine.

The outskirts. The ghetto. The slums. Also known as Precinct 12. Former project for social buildings for the poor and unfortunate, but as usual, that’s not where the money went. Some politicians and construction firm owners got a nice little bonus at the end of that year. Locals didn’t take kindly to that and formed their own sovereign city here, a no-go area for politicians, police and anyone in a government position. Went their once myself, while investigating a triple homicide. Had a certain charm to it; more wood than concrete, more dirt than gravel, more alcohol than teeth. Some say it felt homely. Sure, if your home was a bog full of insects, diseases and shit. But I have to admit, they didn’t put up an act about themselves and what they were. I would almost respect that, if what they were honest about wasn’t being the absolute bottom of humanity. Only fitting the Killer would hide here.

One of the locals approached me. A middle-aged man wearing nothing but worn-out boots, a jeans overall and a straw-hat. “Howdy, pardner. Whatcha lookin’ for?”

Disgusting. “A man. Don’t know his name, don’t know his face, don’t know his clothes. All I know is that son of a bitch killed many people, and I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen again, if you catch my drift.”

“A murderer, you say? That’s one heckin’ unspecific description, pal. Here in Precinct 12, we don’t judge nobody, even the murderin’ folks. And we have a lotta these murderin’ folks ‘round here.”

God damn it. This was going to be tougher than I expected. “Got any especially murderin’ kind? Someone who gets off on killin’ people?”

The man thought about that for a second, really racked his brain. His one tooth he had left was clearly visible in his open mouth. “Especially murderin’…” he kept repeating to himself. “That don’t sound too swell…”

“Damn straight.”

“Like a real nasty person…”

“A sick bastard.”

“Well, this sure sounds like that Mrak fella who moved in here about 15 years ago. A loner, lives in his hut down by the river. No family or friends, as far as I know.”

Mrak? Hadn’t heard that name in years. Small-time criminal we could never convict. Inconclusive evidence, witness tampering, threatening jurors, something always got in the way of his deserved sentence. “Are you sure? I know him and he hardly seemed like a serial killer to me.”

“Gosh, I dunno Sir. Maybe? I only ever talked to him once, and that was when he told me about how much he enjoyed murderin’ folk and carvin’ stuff out of their chests. Sometimes eatin’ people, too. A bit much, if you ask me, but here in Precinct 12, we let people be people, no matter what people they are.”

Well screw me brainless, put me in a toaster and call me a pop-tard. I actually had a concrete lead. “The things he was carvin’ out, was that the letter X?”

“Uh, it’s been a while, friendo, but I think so.”

“That’s all I needed to know.” I instinctively checked my weapon holster for my trusted 9mm. Always by my side. “You’ve been very helpful, Mr…?”

“I’m Mudar, Sir.” Hadn’t heard that name in all my life. “Nice to meet you.”

Mudar was so kind as to point me in the right direction. Not that I needed the help. My sense of orientation was second to none, and the closer I got to the hut, the more I felt a sense of dread. The air was thick with evil, darkness and mosquitoes. Frogs were croaking a mournful song that was either my death march or Mrak’s. Stepped on a large bug that left a nasty stain on my sole. That’s what I would do to that bastard.

After a few minutes, I arrived at a shoddy hut. My long, arduous scavenger hunt was about to end. I knocked on the door. It made a wooden sound, as hollow as my heart has been since the freak on the other side of that door decided to torment me. From the outside, the hut didn’t tell the tales of murder it housed. But I knew, and I saw. The wooden planks, the crooked nails, the dirty windows, they were complicit, and to the knowing eye like I possessed, they were stained, tainted, defiled by the monster they provided shelter to. I made a mental note to burn that place down later.

Fumbled around in my pockets for a cigarette. I found the last one I had with me. During my first drag, the door opened. It was Mrak alright. An ugly face if there ever was one. Couldn’t forget it if you drank your brain away, and believe me, I’ve tried many times. I blew some smoke right in his ugliness. “Remember me?”

He coughed. “Yes.” The voice, now that I forgot about. As shrieky and penetratingly ear-hurting as a teenage girl on speed during a reunion double-show of the Beatles and One Direction with a guest appearance of Justin Bieber. Behind him, I could see the inside of his hut. Almost no furniture apart from a bed, a few cupboards and what seemed to be a cauldron, inside of which something was boiling.

“Good,” I said and pushed him backwards as I walked inside. Justice didn’t need an invitation.

He fell to the ground, letting out a small squeal. Pathetic. Now in the hut, I could see what else he spent his days with. On the walls hung all the X’s he had carved out over the years. A human foot stuck out of the cauldron. “Come inside,” Mrak said while trying to stand up.

“Cookin’ a clown, I see.” I put a foot on his shoulder and pinned him down again. “Guess what’s about to happen?” I asked him as I slowly pulled out my gun.

“I don’t know.”

“Just one question: why?”

“It’s fun.”

“Fun? Killin’ innocent people is fun to you? Was it fun when you murdered my partner, when you left him to die like cattle in a slaughterhouse, you sick freak?”

“I guess.”

This was far less satisfactory than I had anticipated, perhaps even hoped for. Never too old to learn a lesson, which is never to hope for anything in this cruel world. Mrak was no evil genius, no criminal mastermind. He was an idiot. A despicable, abominable monstrosity, but still an idiot.

It was time to put this miserable hell-hound to rest for good. “Any reason behind these?” I pointed towards the scraps of skin on the walls.

“I like collecting.”

“You’re not a collector, you’re a ransacker, a scavenger.”

“Ok.”

I was starting to question what was worse. The horrible things he did to all those poor people over the years, or talking to him. Couldn’t think of a pun involving the X’s because he was so intellectually draining, so vapid. So I put a bullet in his brain. Then another one. The rest of the magazine found its place in various other parts of his body. And that was that. It was over. All those years, brought to an end in seconds.

Went outside, grabbed a can of gasoline that was just standing around, poured it all over the hut and made a nice little fire with that bastard’s body still inside. For a moment, I thought about joining him, but there was a dame I had to deliver a message to.


End file.
